


Right Romantic Setting

by letsdothepanic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Come Eating, Developing Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Divorced Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, First Time Together, Frottage, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Inexperienced Draco Malfoy, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, POV Draco Malfoy, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Referenced (Past) Open Marriage, Sharing a Bed, Travel, Widower Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsdothepanic/pseuds/letsdothepanic
Summary: On the twelfth day of their romantic relationship, Draco and Harry take Albus, Scorpius and Rose on a weekend trip to Muggle London that Ron and Hermione were supposed to lead. At the fully-booked hotel where they'll be staying for the night, they're surprised to discover that their rather plain room hasonly one bed. It's definitely not the right romantic setting for their first night together but, as Draco comes to realise, there's good in taking things slow.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 201
Collections: 2020 Harry/Draco Sex Fair





	Right Romantic Setting

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[90](https://docs.google.com/document/d/12_5f6f0xUXhqtWfMlhXRyA8kDC3KGShN3oa_IOD12DY/edit#).
> 
> I am pretty sure that this wasn't what my prompter had in mind when they mentioned a new established relationship and taking things slow, but I wanted to try my hand at a twist on the 'Only one Bed!' trope and this idea came up. I hope you can enjoy my take on it all!
> 
> Also great big thank you to my beta reader and cheerleading friends for helping me get out of a creative low and put this together. You rock! ♥

Draco Malfoy isn’t sure how this became his life. 

It’s a funny question to ask himself when he’s at the lobby of a small Muggle hotel, which seems _packed_ for some mysterious reason, with the sounds of way too many people walking and chatting about. There are children giggling, a baby crying, someone who is probably an employee looking for _‘Tim with the towels_ ’ and the perhaps a tad too shrill voice of the receptionist, who’s trying to explain to the man in front of him that the rooms they’ve reserved are ready, but that the hotel is booked and that there’s nothing they can do about the double bed. 

“So you and Mr. Potter will share, Dad?” Scorpius asks, and the doubtful tone in his voice breaks Draco’s heart a little. 

“Uh—”

“We’re all sharing, so I don’t see why that’d be so terrible,” Rose Granger-Weasley interjects, popping from behind Scorpius with a fizzy drink in her hands and Albus Potter right beside her.

“I’m sure you can transfigure something…” the youngest Potter says, and Draco isn’t too pleased about that arched eyebrow he sees. People may say he’s the spitting image of his father, but that’s a Ginevra expression, if Draco has ever seen one. 

And _Merlin_ , has he seen them. 

In fact, he’s been seeing them for over twenty years, since Astoria joined Hermione’s class at the Wizarding Law department’s school and they struck up an unexpected friendship that got the Malfoys invited to dinner parties they never thought they would be welcome at. 

Thanks to Astoria, Draco had the opportunity to invest money and what was left of any family influence into changing some of the worst, most bigoted laws the Wizarding World still kept from the inside, and that had earned him some unexpected friends — all of whom had been there by his side when, years later, he lost his wife to her family’s blood curse.

And, to his surprise, the dinner parties had remained. As it turned out, Ronald Weasley had a great taste for wine — _unforeseen, I’m bloody impressed,_ he remembers slurring in a terrible stage whisper to Astoria one night, as everyone laughed heartily — and Hermione Granger was witty and sharp and ruthless, and Ginevra had stories to tell about Quidditch and– well. About hers and Potter’s _sex life._

Apparently they were into _swing clubs_ , something Draco had never heard of before one night when they all had way too much Chianti and risotto, and Ginevra decided to share their most recent _adventure._ Draco remembers floundering a bit at the mental image of a club where people went to pick up strangers _with their spouses,_ as he’d tried to convey to Astoria by bewildered blinking only. 

‘I was curious about sleeping with a woman and Harry was on board, so we talked to Jones, our Keeper, and she told us about this place… and then he wanted to try it with a bloke so–’ Draco remembered hearing and trying not to blush, to which his wife had held his hand and leaned against him on the sofa they were sat in, in a comforting gesture he didn’t know he needed at the time. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t _know_ people could be attracted to more than one gender at the age of twenty-three, but it was never something he had given too much thought to. Draco knew he was well-attracted to women by a young age, but desiring men was not something he was even allowed to consider in the context he was brought up in. 

‘Is there something you want to talk about?’ Astoria asked him that night when they came home, and Draco wasn’t sure of why he’d ended up intoxicated and crying in her lap, of all things, while telling her he loved her and that he would never leave her and that they were happy and he didn’t want to go to any _sliding clubs_ at all.

He also wasn’t sure of why she listened to all of his babbling and didn’t run away, but she stayed. She made them two strong cups of tea and they had the first open conversation they had ever had about their sexualities and what marriage meant to them. It was one more topic in the long list of things they had been taught in a small-minded, conservative way, and figuring it out together brought them closer. Even if they didn’t intend to explore things with other people, learning about each other’s curiosities fuelled their _intimate moments_ together, and it became just one more of the things that had made their relationship special. 

That and hearing about the wild things that the Potters got up to on a regular basis at their frequent dinner parties — with Ronald constantly leaving the room to get them one thing or another because _that’s my little sister!_ and Hermione giggling away and Harry unable to look anyone in the face, especially after _he_ was the one to share something steamy. 

“Gran just sent me another picture of Olivia… I can’t believe uncle George managed to make her mobile phone work in the Burrow—” Albus’ voice startles Draco out of his reminiscing. 

“It’s a new thing they’re trying out, with the hybrid towers!” Scorpius explains excitedly, and Draco is both impressed that he knows about it and proud of him for it. He doubts they are teaching this kind of subject to twelve year-olds in their Muggle Studies class at Hogwarts, and it warms his heart to think that Scorpius must have gone and researched it on his own.

“Hope magic can save my data, really, because it’s the seventh picture since we left this morning…” Albus grumbles. 

“Sounds to me like you’re jealous of your baby sister…” Rose teases him and Albus goes red and grumbles a “ _Half sister”_ under his breath, which would be less noticeable if he didn’t pout, too. 

“Don’t tell James and Lily, but you’re still Grandma Molly’s favourite, Al,” Harry joins their little circle, a protective hand on his son’s shoulder. It is a small gesture, but Draco sees how it helps the boy relax. It makes _his_ stomach do a flip, for completely unrelated reasons. 

“All set with the rooms?” he asks placidly, clearing his throat.

“Ron and Hermione had booked a room for the kids and one for themselves, so all they’ve got is a double bed,” Harry explains, and that much Draco has grasped already, thank you ever so. 

“Mum was really excited to go see the Natural History Museum! She told me Dad lost it when he first saw all the dinosaurs because he thought the Muggles had made them up,” Rose giggled. 

There was absolutely no need for both Harry and Draco to have taken over the children’s trip to the Museum, but after Hermione had known her and Ronald wouldn’t be able to make it, she insisted they do it together. 

‘It’s gonna be good for the kids to see you together,’ she winked, and Draco thought he would die a little. 

It was two years since Harry got divorced and exactly ten days since he and Draco got together when Hermione asked, and twelve days _now_. They’ve been on two official dates at stuffy restaurants and there’s been one snogging session after they ditched the third posh place for a trip to the little greasy-smelling joint near Harry’s cottage and ended up walking home. Kissing by the front door like teenagers before he made up an excuse and Apparated home hardly counted as intimacy, Draco told himself at that point, and wondered when (and _if_ , honestly) they would have the opportunity to take things further. 

“We’re not going home, are we? I really wanted to check out these _smart tellys_ they talk about on the flyers…” Scorpius looks borderline devastated, and Draco doesn’t know for sure what that says about _himself._

“Of course not! That would be silly.” Draco shakes his head and smiles, then, still not having looked directly at Harry. He’s pretty much afraid of what the children would read in his face if he did. 

“Let’s go leave our bags in the room, then.” Harry beams at him and the kids all engage in more excited chatter. 

Draco is pretty sure his heart melts. 

* * *

They have a lot of fun out with the kids. 

It’s not like Draco is surprised by it; he enjoys being a parent and that is all about the small things. Seeing Albus, Rose and Scorpius fascinated over the artifacts at the Natural History Museum fills him with a kind of joy that makes it way too easy to forget what’s going to happen once they’re back at the little hotel. Seeing his son — whom he saw shrink into himself and lose that spark about him when his mum passed — with a glint in his eyes as he examined an abundance of fossils and ceramic pieces with his two best friends was enough to make all of this worth it. 

“Hagrid bought me a burger the first time I went to Diagon Alley,” Harry tells Draco with his mouth half full of chips. It’s disgusting and endearing.

They’ve all got burgers and they are all massive and greasy. Draco is afraid of what that might do to the children’s stomachs but that doesn’t distract him from the story Harry’s telling him.

“He was the one who took me there to get my things for school,” Harry continues. It takes him a second, but Draco suddenly remembers the day he’s talking about. 

Over the years they have been friends, he and Harry have talked about the difficult things. The six of them have talked about the war and Draco has apologised more times than he can count — to Harry and Hermione and Ronald and Ginevra and the Weasley family and everyone else he could think of. He apologised with words, but also with actions within the Ministry and multiple charities to change what he could, and with the family money he had no better use for once his father died and he became heir. 

He and Harry have also talked about more private things, but not as often. They have talked about his childhood, but not much — ‘My mind healer says depression is clinging to the past, so I’m trying to get over that’, Harry explained and Draco did not pry further — and about the people in their lives. They talked about how lonely Draco was five years ago when Astoria passed and he lost his love and best friend, and they talked about how betrayed Harry felt when Ginevra asked him for a divorce, even though it had been coming for some time. ‘We just weren’t in love anymore, even though we loved each other. How sad is that?’ Harry cried to him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and Draco felt a wave of warm, confusing feelings surge inside himself. He remembers it to this day, breathing in Harry’s cologne and _shivering,_ thinking for the first time in three years that he might want someone else. 

“That’s the day we first met,” Draco says, rather dumbly.

“You were a right prick back then,” Harry smiles, shoves more chips in his mouth, and quickly looks around to see if any of the kids has heard him curse. 

* * *

The kids are all exhausted when they finally make their way back to the hotel. They insisted on going to the British Museum to get their tickets for the next day, just for the sake of taking the _underground train_ once again. 

It was slightly _terrifying,_ deep down, knowing the whole thing was built without any magic and that some of the structures have been there for a hundred years, but Draco made his best effort to find the Gryffindor in him and brave through. It earned him some giggles from Rose and Scorpius, and a few concerned looks from Albus, which he was surprised by but appreciated immensely. Luckily enough, Harry decided they’d had enough Muggle transportation for a day and agreed to bend the rules of their Muggle adventure a little bit and use magic, Apparating them to the point closest to the hotel so they could walk the short distance over. 

Once they are all there, Harry and Draco check if the children have everything they need, from bath towels to pillows to the recommendation that they do not empty the mini bar. 

“It’s not about the money, Al, it's about us not having to rush you to St. Mungo’s in the middle of the night to get your stomach pumped because you ate too many sweets _again,”_ Harry warns them one more time from the door.

Draco can hear the snicker in his voice, though he remembers the occasion was nothing to laugh about. Albus got very ill at the time, and Harry suspected something more serious. 

“That’s rich coming from the little shite who bought out the trolley witch in ‘91,” Draco teases him.

“Was that another one of your nicknames for me? That’s rather long, isn’t it? Doesn’t roll off your tongue that easily,” Harry responds and they make their way to the room they’ve got. 

“It wouldn’t fit on a button, so I had to rethink it.”

Harry laughs and the sound is warm and sweet. Draco feels a rush of affection for him and has to hold back the urge to snog him right there.

“That’s a lot of built-in furniture,” he observes once they’ve swiped their key card (!) and made their way inside. 

Draco looks around with genuine curiosity, taking in the modern setting of the room. It’s nothing extravagant, but still spacious and comfortable. While the children’s room looks over the garden, theirs has a better view of the city lights. The grey afternoon seems to have dissipated into a clearer night sky, though it’s still humid and there are no stars to be seen. 

For the first time since they arrived, Draco pulls his wand from its holster to cast an _Impervius_ Charm over the window to clear out the condensation so he can look at the buildings and the traffic down below them. 

“You’re cheating,” Harry calls from somewhere behind him and Draco freezes for a moment. 

“Huh?” 

“No magic, remember? It’s an adventure.” Harry smiles, moving to sit down on the bed and kick off his shoes in a way that’s both inelegant and stupidly sexy.

“Is that why you won’t use transfiguration on the furniture?” Draco turns to look at him, then, reciprocating Harry’s amused expression. 

“It’s all built-in, after all. That makes the process much more difficult.”

“And you wouldn’t want to return the room all crooked, would you?”

“That’s right.” Harry nods. 

Draco looks at him again, letting his eyes linger. Harry looks different than what he’s used to, but that doesn’t feel like a bad thing. He’s got his hair cut recently, and it’s shorter on the sides, though not enough to hide the sprinkle of grey at his temples. It suits him, Draco reckons, finally moving to remove his own coat. 

“What’s on your mind?” Harry asks him, rising from the bed. They still haven’t touched today, not daring to let anything show in front of their sons and Harry’s niece. Albus hasn’t dealt well with Ginevra getting remarried and having another daughter, even though there’s no animosity between her and Harry. It’s hard to point out why he’s reacted this way, but Draco doesn’t want to risk it. He doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries, or come between Harry and his son, Circe forbid.

He also doesn’t want to question his place in Harry’s life — not when they’re about to undress in front of each other for the first time, and sleep in the same bed for the first time, and maybe do things that Draco hasn’t done with anyone since Astoria died. 

Instinctively, he runs the pad of his thumb over the underside of the wedding ring he’s never taken off. 

“Life,” Draco breathes out in a little laugh. 

“Now that’s not cryptic at all,” Harry teases, stepping closer to him. He’s already removed his coat and scarf, leaving his neck bare for Draco to see. 

He likes the way Harry doesn’t bother shaving every day, and the way there are specks of silver in his beard, as well. He likes that Harry wears the cologne Draco bought him as a Christmas present a few months ago, when they were still circling each other and the tension between them was dense and sweet, as if they both already knew where they would end up and there was no rush.

“Are you nervous?” Harry asks, lower on the teasing tone. He stops, pulling the jumper he’d been wearing over his head and off, leaving him in a worn vest top and jeans. 

“I wouldn’t say _nervous_.” Draco twists his nose in something reminiscent of a sneer; something that means he’s got his guard up, and that has Harry stepping back. 

It takes him a second to understand what’s going on, but Harry is still smiling and it doesn’t look like he’s about to leave. 

At the age of forty-two, Draco doesn’t like to think he would be this susceptible to _nerves_ , or that he would be hanging on to each of Harry’s expressions in search of the smallest signs of rejection. And although he wouldn’t say he’s _ashamed_ of his inexperience, _the tales of Harry’s sexual enterprises_ do precede him, if his dinner party stories are anything to go by. 

“I can change in the loo,” Harry offers, then, and Draco is surprised by how it sounds honest, and not like a dismissal.

“Changing is fine. I’ll do it as well.” He clears his throat. “And you can look, if you’d like,” Draco adds, feeling the harshness in his own expression melt away as he relaxes. 

Grabbing his overnight bag, he fishes out his pyjamas and makes no ceremony before hitting them with a sort of an ironing Charm that warms them up and rids them of wrinkles. 

Harry laughs softly at that, but doesn’t comment on how Draco’s using magic again. Instead, he holds his own pyjamas out for Draco to Charm them, even though Draco is pretty sure that they wouldn’t hold up against too strong of a spell, since Harry’s sleeping clothes consist of a decrepit pair of flannel trousers, a threadbare vest and a bumpy woolen jumper with an H on it. 

“On three?” Harry jokes, putting his now-ironed clothes down on the bed and taking hold of the hem of the shirt he’s wearing. 

“Tosser,” Draco scoffs fondly, shrugging off the button-down he’s finally gotten open and going for his trousers next. 

Draco can feel the heat rise on his face and gets busy with his own clothes, peering at Harry from time to time and drinking in his form in shy sips. 

The years in the Auror department are still evident in Harry’s build — in the way his shoulders are broad and his arms are littered in faint scars from spell damage, as well. There are some on his chest, too, and the round-shaped one catches Draco’s eye the most. He knows about the Horcruxes — he feels _privileged_ to have that knowledge at all, in fact — but he has never realised that they would have left physical scars as well as the emotional ones. It’s nothing obnoxious, really. A faint round outline where Harry’s chest hair is sparse and the skin is a different texture. 

As Draco lowers himself to remove his socks, he thinks about how the years of being home with the kids are also there — in the softness of Harry’s belly and the smile lines around his eyes. 

_Salazar,_ he’s smitten. 

“That went well,” Harry notes, gathering his discarded clothes in a ball and tossing them over the armchair in the corner. If _that_ doesn’t feel adventurous, Draco doesn’t know what would. 

“Agreed.” Draco nods.

“You had fun today, right?” 

“Not in the _tube_ ,” he shakes his head and Harry laughs. “But I did. Scorpius has been talking about this Museum trip for months in his letters... I’m glad he got to see it, even if Ronald and Hermione couldn't take them.”

“It turned out well for the kids, and we get to spend the weekend together.” Harry nods, and Draco finally realises how silly of a scene they must make, speaking from opposite sides of a hotel bed for no reason at all. 

Gathering up some more of the courage he used in the underground, Draco circles the bed with a small, shy laugh and broad steps. He’s met with a smile and Harry’s reach for him. With a deep exhale, Draco wills his shoulders to relax, rolling them back before Harry can get his arms around his neck.

“You’re all stiff,” Harry notes and once again there’s that tone to his voice.

“That’s not news,” Draco jokes, a tad bit self-deprecatingly, adding a tiny smile to his expression for effect.

“No, it isn’t.” Harry smiles back. 

Now _there’s_ the spark they’ve been sharing for the past years as their friendship clearly changed and shifted and their feelings for one another began to show. It is that thrill of a new relationship that they are just starting to build — this time on a much more solid foundation than any relationship Draco had before. 

He and Harry have gone through so much, and now they are here _,_ Draco thinks, feeling silly. 

When they kiss, it feels like a natural progression of their last movement; like closing the distance between them and touching Harry’s lips with his own is just the way of the universe, the way it’s all supposed to be. It’s soft and soothing, and it helps drain the tension from Draco’s body, to which Harry’s hands respond by tangling in his hair. 

“This isn’t the most romantic place,” Harry begins when he eventually pulls away. 

His glasses are foggy and Draco can’t help the little tug to his stomach at how _endearing_ it looks. Behind the lenses, Harry’s eyes look like a mottle of green and black; like bright irises and long eyelashes and some sort of _magic_.

“I’ve heard you’ve slept with people in worse conditions,” Draco tries for a light tone, but regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

Harry looks at him for a couple of seconds, his eyebrows raised. It’s barely a moment, but it feels like it may be what ruins this all. 

Harry blinks and Draco swallows. 

“Does that bother you?” 

He can’t tell if Harry looks hurt or angry, and suddenly the foggy glasses feel like a terrible nuisance. Gently, Draco reaches to take them off, using the little wandless magic he can perform to send them floating over to the bedside table behind them. It works as a distraction, as a way for him to gather his words and make sure he doesn’t say anything dumb again. 

“It doesn’t bother me that you’ve done things. I—” he exhales, and the whole thing sounds juvenile in his head. He’s in his forties and he’s got a son; he’s been married, and widowed, _and_ he has spent his whole adult life actively trying to become a better person. 

Draco’s fingers twitch, and he can feel the heat creep up his face. 

“The point is, ah. I—” he stutters. 

Harry waits.

“I’ve only been with Astoria. I’m not sure you know that.” Draco purses his lips and fights the wave of embarrassment that is caused by the weight he has just given the fact, more than the situation itself. “I have _wanted_ people in the past, and I have— we have— uh,” he lets out a shaky breath and braces on. “I was taught to wait until marriage and I did. We had the child we both wanted so dearly and then—”

“And then she passed,” Harry nods, tucking a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear.

Draco breathes out again. “She did. And then I had Scorpius to think of, and I didn’t have any room in my life for someone else because I had to be there for him.”

“And you were,” Harry assures him. 

Draco has no idea of whether Harry’s saying this to just be agreeable, and the idea that he’s being _humoured_ would fill his chest with dread, was it given the time to. 

“It doesn’t bother _me_ , by the way,” Harry continues, gently kissing Draco on the cheek, and then moving to the other. “I don’t mind taking things slow, not at all. We’ve waited for things to feel right all around.” Harry moves to his jaw, then, to the shell of his ear. “And I’m not in any rush, Draco. We’ve got no reason to be.”

“This really _isn’t_ the most romantic setting…” Draco tries for humour, and he’s sure Harry knows he’s not deflecting. 

“Tell you what— we’ll get into bed. We’ll turn off the lights, turn on the telly and and I’ll mock you for the way you freaked out the first time we all went to the movies together.”

Draco snorts. “No, I didn’t!”

“I told Hermione your wee Pureblood arse wasn’t ready for the bright electric lights and the loud noises,” Harry laughs and just like that there’s a weight off Draco’s shoulders. 

They kiss again. Draco retreats to the en-suite for his nightly routine and is surprised when Harry pops by behind him with a toiletries bag that’s even fuller than his own. Leaning against the door, he watches as Harry bloody Potter applies several Muggle skin care products he’s never heard of, and tries to learn a thing or two. 

* * *

Draco wakes up feeling excessively warm and takes a moment to figure which one of the Kneazles is lying right on top of him _this time,_ and all but trapping him in place. It has happened before — they are heavier than they look, and entitled enough to think it is their right to use Draco as a self-heating pillow whose only purpose is to serve them — and so he goes instinctively for the proven method of wiggling and turning. Except, when he wiggles, there’s an _arm_ tightening around his middle, and sleepy grumbles of " _Too early_ ” and “ _Stay_ ” instead of claws and fur. 

It’s still dark out, as Draco can see when he dares to open his eyes. Slowly, the environment becomes familiar: the curtains they forgot to close all the way, the modern furniture and the soft glow of the city lights outside their window. The realisation helps him relax; a slow breath leaving his lips.

Hours before, Harry had fallen asleep with his head on Draco’s lap while he carded his fingers through the knots that insisted on forming in Harry’s hair in spite of his worthy attempts to tame it. It felt great to share that moment; like another step on their path towards getting to knowing another and into making their relationship more meaningful. There was still a lot waiting to happen, Draco thought then, but they had also come a long way already, from where they once were at school, for instance.

With a small sigh, then, Draco lets his eyes fall shut once more and shifts closer to Harry, melting into his embrace. Feeling bold, he slides one leg over Harry’s, inviting him to fit his thigh between Draco’s. And _Salazar,_ do they fit well together, Draco thinks, enjoying the swooping feeling in his stomach as he adjusts and notices Harry’s arousal. 

“‘S that alright?” Harry asks him in a sleep-heavy tone, and Draco can feel the smile in his voice when Harry presses a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

 _That would be a yes_ , Draco thinks, and snuggles closer. He lets out a soft sound in agreement, too, just for good measure. After all, Harry feels warm and solid behind him; his body engulfing Draco’s in safety and the faint smell of woodsy cologne. 

He doesn’t remember feeling this way in a long time — having small shivers run up his spine just from feeling someone else’s body against his. He’s never had anyone’s _hard cock_ press against him, either, Draco realises with a small thrill as he tries out the words in his mind. 

It makes him blush, to notice that his body has responded even before he could think of it, his hips undulating off their own accord as he sought Harry’s warmth. There are several layers of clothing between them, and no movement towards taking them off — which seems to take away from the pressure from last night and leaves only this electric, bright anticipation in its wake. Meanwhile, Harry is still breathing deeply behind him, and Draco wonders if he has fallen back asleep. He misses the kisses to his nape, even though Harry’s body has not stopped responding to his movements.

“Kiss me again,” Draco whispers, then, hopefully not loudly enough that he’ll wake Harry up if he is actually sleeping. Surprisingly, Draco doesn’t mind the way it comes out a little broken and a little pleading. He _wants_ it, after all. 

“ _Mmm, c’mere_ ,” Harry replies. He moves up his arm that’s been holding Draco’s middle, shifts and uses his large hand to gently tilt Draco’s chin towards him. 

Harry’s eyes are closed when Draco turns his head and closes the space between them, kissing him gently. It’s soft but not hesitant, the way their lips touch and then the way their lips part to deepen the kiss.

Instinctively, Draco’s hips keep moving as his body wants more. Their legs tangle together in the most natural of ways as he shifts to lie on his other side, finally able to see Harry fully. And there he is, sans the lumpy jumper Draco is sure he’s gone to bed in, in only the worn trousers through which Draco can perfectly discern the contours of an erection. The sight makes his mouth _water_ , and there is no time to feel shame about how primal of a reaction that is.

He is hard too, at this point, to no one’s surprise. And, when Harry finally opens his eyes, Draco _feels_ the path they trace all the way down his body.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, almost as if thinking out loud, and Harry has the audacity to blush. 

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” Harry tells him, and it’s cheesy and the perfect line at the same time. 

“Treacherous, us Slytherins,” Draco chuckles and kisses him again. 

This time, he’s the one to draw Harry close. Draco fits their bodies together and gasps out loud when their hips align. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he curses under his breath, nipping at Harry’s bottom lip as if he can never get sick of doing it. It feels divine, letting his fingers tangle in Harry’s wild hair and kissing his lips and jaw and neck and drinking in the feeling of stubble burn on his sensitive skin. As they lay there, everything feels connected: every move feels fluid and sensual as their bodies move in sync, undulating and shifting, seeking pleasure with impressive fluidity. 

Draco cannot remember the last time _kissing_ has got him this hot and bothered and he doesn’t make an effort to. He doesn’t have to think of any of that right now; just the fact that Harry’s hand has slid down, and the way it has found its way onto his arse, holding onto the flesh and squeezing it merrily.

It makes Draco’s blood _boil_ as it causes him to buck forward; causes him to moan softly against Harry’s mouth and his cock to cry a dollop of precome inside his underwear. 

All of his nerve ends feel alive, and the sensation is right on the perfect spot between sultry and overwhelming. And so he sucks on Harry’s tongue ever so gently, and caresses it with his own and basks on the sound that Harry makes — breathless and broken. Harry squeezes his arse cheek and kneads it in his hand and pulls Draco against him, and Draco is pretty sure he may melt.

Instead, he groans. He squeezes his eyes shut, tilts his head back and takes it as Harry sucks a bruise onto his neck. Draco doesn’t think of another world where he would have walked through the halls in Hogwarts sporting that love bite as a trophy because that world will never be as good as this one, that they inhabit together. 

The Muggle hotel room with its abundance of plain built-in furniture and plastic blackout curtains isn’t the perfect romantic setting that Draco would have thought of for his first time with Harry but, as he rolls them over so he can lie on top of Harry and take control of their movements, Draco notices that he doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t care about idealisations of romance when he’s got Harry underneath him — hair mussed and lips swollen and shiny from their kiss — and his cock is so hard he’s on the brink of lightheadedness. 

“ _Christ_ ,” Harry cries and flushes again under his gaze. 

Draco smiles at him and tries to decide what to do with the tightness he feels in his core, the pulse of his building arousal thrumming in his ears. For a second, he can feel himself get closer to that mindspace of panic as doubt threatens to arrive for good, but Harry’s quicker. 

“Come for me,” Harry rasps, and Draco is pretty sure he may have died.

Skilfully, Harry wiggles enough to get his trousers down, working on Draco’s next, just enough to get his erection free. With one murmured Spell, his palm is full of warm, slippery liquid and Draco barely has the time to process it before Harry’s got his hand around them both and _is jerking them off._

“There you go,” Harry coaxes, and Draco feels himself unravel. He comes with a low cry, shutting his eyes as he spills over Harry’s fist, his cock and their laps. 

Mesmerised, Draco watches as Harry follows him — as Harry throws his head back into the pillows and bites on his already swollen lower lip, with the most attractive flush colouring his tanned skin. Draco watches his cock twitch and spurt, and the sight may just be the most erotic thing he has ever laid eyes on. 

That is, at least until Harry James Potter runs his fingers through the mess they’ve both made all over his middle and _sucks them clean_. One by one. 

“ _Gods._ ” Draco chuckles, shaking his head and covering his warm, likely reddened face with a hand. 

“Next time,” Harry tells him, matter-of-factly. “I’m sucking you off. And then you can do it right in my mouth.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Potter.” Draco laughs softly again as a rush of deep affection surges through him, the feeling mixing with the spark of Harry’s wandless magic that washes over them, clearing everything away.

When they fall asleep again, it is Draco’s arm that rests around Harry’s middle, Draco’s soft kisses to his nape. 

They are going to need a shower in the morning, and Draco honestly hopes that the water pressure will be the thing to impress him about their hotel room. This time, they remember to close the blinds — and also to text the children to meet them downstairs for breakfast at eight, so there won’t be any surprise knocks on their door.

* * *

The breakfast buffet turns out to be the thing to wow him, after all. 

Draco takes a special interest in the réchauds and is positively impressed by how effective they are in keeping all sorts of food warm. He knows Harry is watching him as he leans closer to peer into the hot water reservatories and manages to keep his expression neutral enough that it only elicits an amused chuckle from him.

The atmosphere at their table reminds him of the one between him and Harry from a few months ago, thick with something sweet and special, with every glance in Harry’s direction making him smile. 

“I’m sorry we’re late, uncle Harry, but we messed up setting the alarm clock!” 

Rose’s voice coming from somewhere behind him startles Draco, who almost spills his tea all over himself. Harry, the bastard, laughs. 

“That’s fine, Rosie! We haven’t been waiting for long, have we?”

“Not at all,” Draco tells her, clearing his throat.

After Rose come Albus and Scorpius, who seem distracted by something on Albus’ mobile.

“More pictures of Olivia?” Draco asks him, genuinely curious.

“She ate a banana all by herself,” Albus informs him before pocketing his phone. 

Draco gets distracted for a second as he looks Scorpius over, reaching out to fix his hair out of habit, earning himself a “That’s fine, dad!” and a laugh before he runs off to get himself some food.

When Draco turns around, though, Albus’ gaze is fixed on his left hand, now missing one antique golden ring.

In a second that seems to take at least a thousand more, Albus’ eyes narrow as he slowly turns to look at his father — who’s now fixing the ends of the braids in Rose’s hair as they chat merrily about the paintings she wants to see the most today — and then back at Draco. 

In the end, it is a shrug that lets him know it’s fine to breathe again.

“I’m gonna get some juice, Mr. Malfoy. Do you want some?” the boy offers.

“Apple is fine,” Draco nods.

Across the table, Harry beams at him. 

**Author's Note:**

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